


Moving In

by Kiwikiwi591



Series: Uni!Lock [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Continuation, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Series, Uni!lock, teen!lock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-22 00:03:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1568705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiwikiwi591/pseuds/Kiwikiwi591
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John moves in with Sherlock, deciding to share a flat with him for the rest of the semester. After a couple months, however, John begins to think that maybe he'd like to be something more than just a flatmate..</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Moving In

            John walked to the door of his new flat, duffel bag of belongings in hand. Moving out of his dorm made him realize just how little he actually owned; most of the furniture and decorations had been Mike’s. All John really owned was a barely-used journal with a matching writing set, his laptop, his clothes, and any school supplies. All of it had fit easily, and depressingly, into the bag. He looked up at the door, taking a breath before stepping in.

            John looked around the flat, taking it in. The walls were covered with mint green wallpaper, framed with a dark wooden trim. There were two windows in the central room looking outwards towards the street, each with its own raggedy set of blinds. The floor was a dark hardwood, matching the trim.

            Or at least it appeared to be so. Most of the floor, and all of the furniture that was set up, was absolutely covered in boxes of Sherlock’s possessions. Sherlock himself stepped out from a corner brushing dust off of his shirt, looking very annoyed.

            “The landlord could have at _least_ warned me about the obscene condition the previous tenant kept this place in,” he grumbled. “I don’t think this flat has been cleaned in the last century.”

            John was still looking around at the sheer amount of boxes, binders, and loose-leaf papers. Some boxes had ordinary labels, like “textbooks” or “extra clothing”… Others had much more terrifying ones. One seemed to be leaking some kind of unknown fluid. He laughed once nervously to himself.

_What have I gotten myself into?_

            “Are all these yours?” John asked, motioning towards the room.

            Sherlock looked around, then made a face, and said “Mostly. Two boxes are from the previous occupant.”

            John nodded, looking around again. There had to be enough books here alone to fill a library. He walked over to one smaller stack of boxes. Each of the five labels read the same thing; “Chemistry Equipment”.

            “You have to provide your own equipment?” John asked, lifting the lid of one of the boxes. A various assortment of beakers and flasks sat inside.

            “No,” Sherlock said, walking over and shutting the lid. John stepped back, mumbling an apology. “This is my personal set.”

            “Oh.”

            There was an awkward silence for a moment. John broke it, setting down his bag. “So, this place is nice. At least, the living room is.”

            “Ah, yes, feel free to look around the rest of the flat. I need to begin sorting my boxes.”

            John nodded, and began slowly pacing around. Connected to the main room was a little kitchen, decorated in cool blue and green. Leading from the kitchen was a hallway, with three doors on its walls. A bathroom, closet, and… One bedroom. John walked back into the main room. There were no other doors.

            “Is there only one bedroom?” he asked.

            Sherlock lifted his head from behind a stack of boxes. “Yes.”

            John swallowed. Sure, he’d thought that Sherlock had looked oh-so-good during that show only a couple nights ago, but he barely knew the guy. And yet, here he was, moving in with him; even so, he didn’t quite want to share a bedroom with his flatmate.

            Yet.

            Sherlock, sensing John’s discomfort, gave a short sigh. “Sharing a bedroom does not equate to having sex, John.”

            John flushed a deep red, turning away with a nervous laugh. “That’s not-“

            “Yes it was,” Sherlock said, again giving a response before he could even finish his sentence. That was going to take some getting used to.

          “At any rate,” he said, grunting as he lifted a particularly full box of books. “If you look, there are two beds.”

            John breathed a sigh of relief, but somewhere in the back of his head he was oddly… Disappointed. He shook his head, pushing the little inkling away. That was enough of that.

            “Right. Good.” John shuffled his feet awkwardly. Sherlock walked by briskly, setting the box down.

            “You can go ahead and put your belongings in the bedroom, if you like,” he said, beginning to sort the contents of the box.

            John nodded, picked up his duffel bag, and walked into the bedroom. Just as Sherlock said, there were two single beds with a bedside table between them. There was only one wardrobe, though; they would have to share. John sighed, hoping that Sherlock’s clothing collection wasn’t as extensive as the rest of his belongings. He took out his set of clothes, mostly t-shirts, jeans, and a few wooly jumpers, and hung them in one side of the wardrobe. He took out his laptop, setting it off to the side near an outlet. He decided that the journal and school supplies would sit fine on the desk in the main room once it was cleared of the boxes. He set the bag down, stepping into the main room to help unpack.

            He was surprised to find most of the boxes already empty and sitting in a corner. The flat was beginning to look downright livable.

            “That didn’t take you long,” John said, looking around the now oddly empty room.

            Sherlock shrugged. “It shouldn’t take long if you know that everything has its proper place. Just a matter of arranging and rearranging.”

            John nodded. That was beginning to become his default action; see Sherlock do something odd or amazing, nod in place of words. It was probably fairly annoying on the other end.

            “Well, I’m moved in,” John said, setting his books down on the desk. Sherlock frowned slightly.

            “Do you really have to have so many books?” He asked. John gave a short laugh, then motioned towards the two filled bookshelves along the wall. Sherlock looked them over, then shrugged.

            “Those are my personal books. I only have three books for my Chemistry classes, and I hardly use one of them. You practically have a library in your hands.”

            “Just another part of life as a medical student,” John replied.

            Sherlock gave a short laugh and a smile. John couldn’t help but smile back; he was pretty sure it was the first genuine smile he’d seen on the man since they’d met.

            They both turned, quietly going about the work of finishing up their flat.


	2. The First Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is woken up in the middle of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I know it's short! I'm trying to get a bit of writing in before I have to devote my attention to finals. I'll be back Friday!

            John shot straight up, awoken by a very loud explosion in the kitchen. Heart pounding, he looked to the other bed to see if the noise had woken up his flatmate; he panicked even more upon realising that the bed was empty. He quickly jumped up, nearly falling on his face on the way out. He sprinted into the kitchen, and froze in his tracks at what he saw.

            Sherlock was lying on the floor, appearing unconscious. There was, however, no intruder to be found. Instead, there were several pieces of broken glassware and ash marks littering the floor. John stepped closer, careful not to cut himself, and looked at the table. A burner was still lit, a small container labelled “gunpowder” sitting beside it. Not far away, there was a piece of paper with a few grains lying openly. John, making the connection, looked down at Sherlock again. Sure enough, he was still holding tightly onto a pair of tongs. It looked like his experiment had blown up in his face; quite literally.

            Had he not launched into doctor-in-training mode, he probably would have laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation. He crouched down, checking for signs of breathing. He knew that gunpowder exploding that close, even a small amount, could cause some serious damage. In all honesty, Sherlock was probably lucky to have all of his fingers. John pulled back the lab goggles, and tapped his face lightly a couple times.

            “Sherlock? Sherlock, can you hear me?” he said. No reply.

            “Sherlock,” he said, louder. He took out his phone, prepared to dial 999, when his flatmate began shifting. Sherlock screwed up his face, letting out a long groan.

            “Sherlock, are you alright?” John asked.

            “Wasn’t supposed to happen,” he mumbled. He reached up a gloved hand, running it through his hair. “That amount shouldn’t have combusted so violently. I only used five grains; that was an explosion probably equivalent to twenty. Do I have all of my fingers?” He let go of the tongs, raised both hands in front of his face. He squinted his eyes in an attempt to focus.

            “Yes, all ten,” John said, deciding he could use some help. Sherlock’s arms fell to his sides, letting out a puff of air.

            “Good, good,” Sherlock said, still sounding a bit breathless. “Always worried I might lose something in these experiments. I did lose an eyebrow, once.”

            John laughed as the absurdity of the situation caught up with him. He was awake, at three in the morning, mind you, because his flatmate had just nearly blown himself up.

            Wait a minute. He’d just nearly blown himself up doing an experiment at three in the morning. Quite a few questions hit his mind at once. He decided to condense them all down as easily as possible.

            “What the hell were you doing, anyway?” John asked.

            Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “Testing the combustivity of gunpowder with the aid of different catalysts.” He lifted his head, peeking at the mess. He fell back again. John made a mental note to check for a concussion in the morning.

            “It would appear that ammonium nitrate works wonderfully.” He said, a small smile on his face. John shook his head.

            “At three in the morning?”

            “I couldn’t sleep, as usual. It was either this or the violin.”

            John was dumbfounded. He decided on a slow nod before replying.

            “Maybe go with the violin next time.”

            Sherlock nodded, blinking slowly. He took off a glove, wiped off his face.

            “You should probably shower. Then take care of this glass,” John said, motioning toward the mess on the floor. Sherlock groaned.

            “Cleaning. The worst part of any experiment.”

            “Ah, yes, but it has to be done.”

            “Not necessarily. I could just leave this out.”

            “I’d rather not get sliced up while trying to get breakfast in the morning.”

            Sherlock shrugged and stood slowly, grimacing the entire way up. He momentarily lost his balance, and John stood to help him. Sherlock scowled.

            “I’m fine. I’ve done worse.”

            “That may be true, but I _am_ a medical student, and I’m pretty sure you’ve got at least a minor concussion. On second thought, a shower might not be the best idea. Maybe try bed, instead?”

            Sherlock grabbed his head, silent for a moment. Then, he shook his head, walking over to the couch. John watched, concerned that he might hurt himself worse tripping over something the still not entirely unpacked sitting room. He did, however, make it over without incident. He curled up onto the couch, drawing his arms and legs in. John couldn’t help but stare for a moment. He looked almost childish, curled into himself like that. He shook his head.

            “You’re sure you’re fine?” he asked, beginning to walk back to the hallway.

            Sherlock nodded, eyes closed. John walked back to the bedroom, setting an alarm for three hours later. It was earlier than he usually got up, but it would probably be good to leave some extra time in the likely case that Sherlock needed actual medical attention. He buried himself in the sheets again, slowly drifting back into sleep.

            It was an interesting first night in the flat.


	3. Stargazing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two months into a flatshare with Sherlock, John finally finds something he doesn't know.

            John sat on the couch, typing away on a midterm report for one of his classes. He’d been working for hours, and was sure that his fingers would give up on him soon. He leaned back, exhaling slowly. He glanced at the clock. 9:30 PM. Sherlock would be back from his gig any minute, and would hopefully want him to do something so that he would have an excuse to put the laptop away for a while.

            John had found in the past two months that Sherlock was an interesting man to live with. It still startled him at times the experiments he did, and he would never forget the first time that he walked into the kitchen and found _human eyes_ on the table. He had to admit, though, he was never bored. Whether it was assisting with a report or an experiment, Sherlock almost always had something to do. If John didn’t know better, he’d think that he was just finding excuses to spend time with him; but another thing that he’d learned in their time as flatmates was that Sherlock didn’t seem to be interested in any relationship at all. He’d actually seemed almost repelled at the thought.

            _“So, do you have a girlfriend?”_

            It was just a simple question. He’d only been trying to make conversation as they ate takeaway for the third time that week.

            _“Sorry?”_

_“A girlfriend. You know, lead in a band? You’ve got to have girls clamouring for you.”_

_“Ah, no. Not really my area.”_

John had nodded, not catching the meaning behind the remark until a couple moments later.

            _“Boyfriend then?”_

_“No.”_

            John cringed inwardly at the memory. A painfully awkward silence had stretched between them and he’d regretted asking the question.

            _“Right then. Unattached, like me,”_ he’d said after a few long moments. Sherlock looked at him with an identifiable look, then returned to his food. Neither of them had ever brought it up again.

            In the present time, Sherlock strode through the door, setting his carrying case down. John quickly pushed away the flush he felt on his cheeks at the look of his stage costume, his sweat from the long show… He really needed to stop that. Sherlock sighed, flopping down on the couch beside him.

            “I don’t know why I do this, sometimes,” he said, sounding exhausted. “It wasn’t even my idea. A previous roommate suggested it after he was woken up by my playing one night.”

            “He had good taste,” John said. He’d been woken up a couple nights by Sherlock’s practicing, and it wasn’t an entirely unpleasant thing to have his sleep interrupted by. As a matter of fact, he usually went on to sleep more soundly afterwards.

            Sherlock sighed, closed his eyes. “I have an astronomy exam tomorrow. It’s so _dull._ I see no point in studying something that will be useless to me later. Does anyone actually _care_ that a giant burning ball of gases orbits our planet?”

            “I’m sure a lot of people do,” John replied. “Wait, did you just say the Sun went around the Earth?”

            “Did I? I don’t really know what it does,” Sherlock said.

            John laughed at first, but Sherlock’s expression didn’t change. “Wait, you’re not kidding? You really don’t know that?”

            “It doesn’t _matter!”_ Sherlock said, sitting forward suddenly. “I study _chemistry._ It doesn’t matter to me if we go round the Sun or if it goes round us, unless solar radiation has an effect on Chemistry somehow.” He crinkled his brow, looked at John. “Does it?”

            John stared back incredulously. How could Sherlock, who seemed to know just about everything, not know primary school science?

            “I don’t think it does,” he replied. “You seriously didn’t know we went around the Sun? You’re not joking?”

            Sherlock huffed in frustration. “No, I didn’t. You knew something I didn’t. Satisfied?” He genuinely sounded a bit hurt.

            “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. It just seemed... Odd. I mean, you know so much about so many other things, I just assumed you’d know, I don’t know, all the constellations and how they line up.”

            He was met with a blank look.

            “Oh for-“ John stood, shutting his laptop. “Come on,” he said, walking towards the door.

            Sherlock looked confused, but followed nonetheless.

* * *

 

            “And you see that?” John said, pointing towards a star. “That’s the middle of Orion’s belt. If you look at the rest of the stars around it, you can see all of Orion. Betelgeuse is on the shoulder.”

            Sherlock leaned back on the grass, squinting at the sky. He let out a puff of air. “I just don’t see it,” he said before laying all the way back.

            “Ok, how about an easier one?” John said, lying down to see the sky easier.

            “Look, you see just below the North Star? That’s the big dipper,” John said, pointing again. Sherlock looked up, eyes searching. “The stars inside are bright, so it’s easy to find.”

            After a few moments, Sherlock finally stopped to stare at one section of the sky. “I think I see it,” he said. “That’s all it is? A rudimentary picture made of stars?”

            John sighed. “You’re welcome,” he mumbled. He let his arm drop. His fingertips brushed Sherlock’s, and electricity went down his arm before he pulled it away. “Sorry,” he said quietly. Sherlock didn’t move his arm or respond at all, just continued to stare at the sky.

            After a few moments, he turned his head to look at John. Their faces were fairly close, closer than he’d thought. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “No one’s made the effort to actually try and show me before.” He sighed. “I still don’t see the use in it, but that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate it.”

            John paused, trying to think of what to say. It was oddly difficult to speak, suddenly. “No problem,” he finally said. Sherlock moved ever so slightly closer, and John’s heart began to beat hard. He peered into Sherlock’s eyes, trying to see just what was going on in that head. He always seemed so out of it, almost like he existed in a different layer of reality, just content to observe. It was as fascinating a task as any other to try and pick apart what he was thinking. What John was thinking, however, was how much he wanted to lean forward, finally close that distance-

            “We should be getting back,” Sherlock said suddenly. “It’s fairly late now and my exam is first thing in the morning.” He stood, brushed himself off. “Your help is appreciated,” he said before walking off. John sat up, stared after him. He sighed as his heart calmed down, and he felt almost... Sad. He brushed it off; he was being ridiculous. Why would he think that Sherlock would ever want to be with him in that way? They were just flatmates, plain and simple. He needed to get that through his head.

            He stood, beginning the quiet walk back to their flat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went ahead and moved Chapter 4 to its own fic. Each continuation from now on will just be added to the Uni!Lock series.
> 
> Hope you liked this and will like whatever comes next!


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